


In Love (I’ve Always Been a Mercenary)

by apackofsmokes



Series: Clownin' Around [8]
Category: DCU, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Batman, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Costumed Villains, Daddy Kink, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Frozen Yogurt, Genderfluid Stiles Stilinski, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Infidelity, M/M, Masked Vigilantes, Mental Instability, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27694610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apackofsmokes/pseuds/apackofsmokes
Summary: Stiles is hazy, moans when he feels warm lips kissing up the naked skin of his spine. "I'm tryin' to sleep, Der. Don't you have a city to save?"Derek huffs a laugh that tickles his shoulder. "You're the one that snuck past the alarms and jumped me because you have a thing for, how’d you put it? Oh yeah, 'Nocturnal Justice’.”"And I feel very justified.”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Clownin' Around [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/403777
Comments: 21
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> haha yea it’s been a while :/ but I'm getting back in the groove of writing and posting so here’s the boys doing what they do ;D (it’s each other)

**_Saturday_ **

**_A back alley, Beacon City_ **

  
  
Stiles squeezes some random three-piece by his neck, wondering if he can finish this with time to spare. He has a wild craving for curly fries covered in nacho cheese. The lowlife wannabe mobster was two weeks overdue on a payment, and Theo so kindly sent Stiles out to stretch his legs.  
  
That is to say things were tense in the Raeken-Stilinski household as of late. But to be fair, it's not Stiles' fault Theo came so hard he knocked over a beaker of chemicals he'd been perfecting for months. Honestly, if it was that important he should've fucked Stiles on the floor or against the wall... or hanging in the freezer.  
  
The guy squeals and begs, "Please don't kill me! I'll get Joker his money, I swear!"  
  
Stiles scoffs, "Can we not? I've literally heard that a millions times, and you know what? It's never stopped me from breaking bones."  
  
The guy sobs.  
  
"You piss yourself, and I'll gut you," Stiles hisses. "These are new boots." To emphasize, he kicks ole rando in the shin, muffling his screams with a punch to nose.  
  
"Let him go," a gruff voice rumbles.

Stiles sighs, "Christ, I'm not paid enough for this." He's demanding Theo take him somewhere tropical when he gets home; he won't even mind the scalding sunburn he's sure to get. Just drinks with little fucking umbrellas and a volcano for Theo to dangle him over. "I'm a little busy here, B-Man. Do you have an appointment?" He presses his arm harder over the scumbag’s windpipe. He still has a job to do, after all.  
  
"Stiles..."  
  
Stiles throws him a scathing look. "Don't you _Stiles_ me, asshole. I don't know what part of 'Fuck off' you didn't understand yesterday, but I'll gladly clear it up for you. Was it the fuck or the off? Do I need to carve it into this guy's skin? Tell me, Batsy. You know I love being helpful."  
  
Derek frowns, and Stiles can just about imagine what his eyebrows are doing under his mask. "I just wanted to see if you were okay. Yesterday wasn't— I was _trying_ —”

Stiles holds up a hand to stop him, "Fine, _fine._ You wanna do this now? Let's do this now." Stiles releases the guy and watches him struggle to run a few paces before pulling out his gun, letting off one perfect shot in the back of the guy’s head.  
  
In a flash Derek has him pinned to the wall, gun skidding across the wet pavement, a reverse of the position he was in a second ago.  
  
Stiles bares his neck and laughs and laughs.  
  
"You didn't have to kill him!" Derek shouts in his face.  
  
"I thought you wanted to talk? We can't exactly air our dirty laundry in front of the masses. Plus he was a bottom feeder. Even if I hadn't given him the goods, he wouldn't have lasted a week. At least I made it quick, Theo wanted me to bring him home." He sees Derek cringe at the thought. "Exactly."  
  
He can also see the inner conflict Derek is dissecting piece by piece. That guilt fueled moral compass vs. Stiles. Derek's nose scrunches and Stiles thinks, _Yahatzee_!  
  
Derek takes a breath and looks him directly in the eyes, uh oh. Stiles wiggles in his hold. 

There are few things that make Stiles' heart wrench: Theo's disappointment, hugs from Melissa McCall, the cold metal of his dad's badge, and Derek's eyes boring into his own.  
  
It wasn't always the case. He used to flourish under that gaze. His breath would catch, his cheeks would flush. But they aren't those people anymore, and now that look holds _too_ _much_.  
  
"I'm sorry I tried to make you do something you didn't want to do," Derek starts, “You were right. It was your choice."  
  
"You're damn fucking right it was."

  
  
*

  
  
_Stiles is hazy, moans when he feels warm lips kissing up the naked skin of his spine. "I'm tryin' to sleep, Der. Don't you have a city to save?"_   
  
_Derek huffs a laugh that tickles his shoulder. "You're the one that snuck past the alarms and jumped me because you have a thing for, how’d you put it? Oh yeah, 'Nocturnal Justice’.”_   
  
_"And I feel very justified. Another satisfied denizen of Beacon City. Finstock should erect a statue in your honor. I know you always make me—“_   
  
_Derek flips him on his back and straddles his waist, more to get his attention than to start round— six? Stiles lost count after he fucked Derek on the kitchen counter and broke Isaac's French press. The pretentious dick._   
  
_"Don’t finish that sentence.”_

_Stiles pouts, but Derek isn’t even looking in his direction anymore. Uh oh._

_Hesitantly Derek asks, “What time did you want to go today?"_  
  
 _Stiles feigns confusion and casually pushes Derek off. Well he tries for casual, but the 'oof' and bounce more than likely mean he jumped out of bed like someone just said Theo was waiting in the foyer. "Go where?"_  
  
 _"Come on, Stiles. I know you know what day it is. Don't be that way."_  
  
 _"I'm not_ being _any type of way," he says, pulling on his pants and searching for his shirt. "The only plan I have for today is marathoning Leverage while eating an entire box of Captain Crunch... so my usual Thursday."_  
  
 _Derek must’ve fucking apparated because he has his arms wrapped around Stiles like he'll bolt. And as soon as Stiles finds his other sock he will._

_"You need to go see him."_   
  
_A knot wells up in Stiles’ throat. He can't do this, can't talk about it. "No, you need me to go see him. I don't need to do anything."_   
  
_"Are you serious?”_

_Stiles elbows him between the ribs and twists out his grasp. Who needs socks anyway, feet were meant to be free. These little piggies went wee wee wee all the fucking way out of this conversation. “I'm warning you. Drop it."_  
  
 _"He's your father!"_  
  
 _"_ My father is dead! _” Stiles snaps. "That's just a body in a box, and I won't weep over a grave like it's anything but." The alternative — that those matching headstones placed over cold ground are his parents, his only family. The thought is almost unbearable._

_"You can't possibly feel—"_   
  
_"I'm not you, Derek! I can't just fucking walk into Beacon Cemetery like I'm ready to let it have me too." Stiles finishes getting dressed, pointedly ignoring Derek’s heavy breathing and the agony Stiles knows Derek can't give up. Not for him, not for anyone._   
  
_"You're making a mistake."_   
  
_Stiles shakes his head as he climbs out the window. "Fuck off, Derek." And heads to the lair._

  
  
*

  
  
"Can we just forget this whole thing?" Derek pleads, taking a step back from where he was caging Stiles in.  
  
He wants to say no and kick Derek's ass across half the city vengeance style, but he's tired. So tired that the more he tries to hold a grudge, the more he has to think about the reason why... it's just painful. Painful in the way only old grief mixed with new can be.  
  
Stiles picks up his gun and holsters it, careful to avoid the bloody mess he made, then stands toe to toe with the caped crusader. "Hmm, I guess... under one condition."  
  
"Oh god."  
  
"Calm down you giant rat with wings, I just—" he closes his eyes, "next time you go... bring gardenias. They were my mom's favorite."  
  
When he opens them, Derek is staring at him with an unreadable expression. "Okay."  
  
"Okay,” Stiles echoes.  
  
They both start walking to the opening of the alley, their shoulders knocking and Derek passes him a tiny smile.  
  
Stiles ducks his head and blushes, "You're stupid."  
  
Derek snorts, "I was going to offer you a ride, but your ass can walk."  
  
Stiles sprints ahead, shaking said ass as he goes. "Offer me a ride?" he asks with a smirk, turning around and holding up Derek's keys, “with what car?"  
  
"Stiles!" Derek yells, amusement breaking through. 

"Catch you later, B!" he giggles, wondering where the fuck Derek parked.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

_**Sunday** _

_**Yo-Yo Yogurt, Midtown, Beacon City** _

  
They step out of the frozen yogurt shop onto the bustling sidewalk, each right hand holding a cup.  
  
Theo's other hand is on Stiles lower back pushing him forward. It's not affectionate, Stiles knows. It’s Theo not wanting anyone in the street touching his possession.  
  
Stiles eyes Theo's dessert. "That looks soooo gross. There's no way that shit is gonna taste good. Who even gets pistachio and plum together? The fuck? You didn't even get toppings!"  
  
Theo's palm spasms aggressively against his back as they find a park bench to sit on, a few pedestrians give them frightened stares then walk briskly in the other direction. Villains cohabiting with everyday citizens in Beacon is hardly something to give a second glance, but it’s _them._ Honestly, Stiles is flattered by their infamy. Makes him squirm in all the right places. He’s always been prideful and narcissistic, now he just lets it run wild, feeds the flaws. 

And not for nothing, he thinks they make quite a pair. Him in his usual red/black combo, for once not donning his mask, and Theo... fuck, he looks like a dream.  
  
He's not wearing his suit jacket, just a waistcoat, oddly close to the color of Lydia's skin, over a soft button up matching his Forget-Me-Not eyes. In a rare show of casualness, his tie is loose, along with rolled up sleeves displaying pale inked, muscular arms. And despite the ever present need to climb Theo like King Kong on a skyscraper, Stiles really just wants to hold his hand.  
  
Snapping out of his morose thoughts of unrequited adoration and back to the present, he sees Theo glance down at the hodgepodge in Stiles' own container with disgust. It's 90% candy and 10% watermelon flavored dairy. It even has chocolate chip seeds. Needless to say, Stiles is very pleased with his choice. "I'm getting cavities just looking at that mess."  
  
"Jealous," Stiles sing-songs, shoving a massive scoop into his mouth.  
  
His partner snorts. "Just for that, I'm not gonna share when you eat all yours in under a minute. Also, why are we doing this again? When you said 'let's do something fun,' I thought it would involve more screaming." He pauses licking his spoon. "And less sugar."  
  
Theo's outfit choice might have been why he decided on this particular excursion. Sparking thoughts of Lydia and her saying this was her favorite place. The jury's still out if she meant favorite to rob or favorite to snack at. He should visit her soon, maybe marathon _Say Yes to the Dress_ to roast hideous brides and the social construct of weddings and gender conformity.  
  
But really, Stiles just wanted to be out and about with his hunka hunka mass murderer. They've been lying low for over two weeks. Seeing the same underground tunnels everyday had him scratching at those damp walls. And clearly Theo's complaining was to keep up his somber appearance, much like his dessert, because he looks less restless as well.  
  
Stiles leans back into the arm Theo's thrown over the top of the bench, and pretends they're like every other couple on a Sunday in doom and gloom Beacon City. Not that he minds their relationship. In fact he's never been happier. There's just a peak they haven't quite reached yet, and Stiles' rope is wearing thin. If he has to strangle Theo with it, he’d like it nice and thick. 

"Because you wanted to treat your sweet to something sweet."  
  
Theo scoffs. "I don't remember that part of the conversation. What I do remember is your very determined tongue on my cock." His fingers brush along Stiles' throat.  
  
Stiles whimpers, pressing into them. "Hmm, I'm a firm believer in bribery as a means of getting what I want. And anyway that cashier seemed on the verge of a scream."  
  
"Well Pet, most people are when they have a gun pointed at them." Theo shrugs, expression serene, sunlight dancing off his pale skin. Stiles wonders if his complexion mirrors it. Bleached the same no doubt, but rather than flawless, Stiles has moles and freckles scattered about. Theo's eyes are closed but he still snarls, "Stop staring at me. I'm not a zoo exhibit."  
  
Stiles flinches at the abrupt, almost violent, change in mood. "That's not what I— you know I think you're—" Beautiful. He can't say it, but he thinks it fiercely. As if he'd ever think anything less. He knows the other man is aware of the way Stiles worships him. Shit, Theo must really be enjoying himself if he's _trying_ to ruin their date. Always lashing out like a cornered animal when emotions overwhelm him.  
  
There's nothing Theo hates more than things out of his control, and his own feelings tend to be what throws him the most, forcing him to viciously attack what brings out his weakness. Or whatever’s closest.  
  
Both are usually Stiles in this regard.  
  
That fact makes Stiles want to do a victory dance. If he was in the mood for a knife to kidney, he totally would, but alas… he only has one left.  
  
Theo’s eyes narrow at Stiles' lack of words, latching onto any excuse to be antagonistic. "Oh I see, you think I need you to tell me how pretty I am, right? Now there's a joke," he laughs terribly. "I'm not some homecoming queen that needs reassurance that I'm the belle of the ball, got it? And I’m certainly not some annoying, sappy attention whore of a sidekick who needs reassurance and praise.” 

Stiles feels it cut deeper than he'd like, but he's taken worse insults. He’ll take more and more until he’s sick with self pity because today’s one of those days where it’ll be what gets him off. That slimy slithering _hate_ for his weaknesses. Theo will fill him up to the brim until it overflows and makes him numb. He goes a little dazed imagining it, but Theo is still ranting so Stiles mentally slaps his cheeks. _Focus_ _or he won’t play with you, dumbass._

Because contrary to what Theo _thinks,_ he needs more attention than anyone Stiles has ever met. He just wants it from one vigilante in particular.

“—I relish not blending in with all the insignificant wastes of space around here. So don't turn those sad doe eyes on me, or I'll dump your body in the river."  
  
Stiles smiles fondly. "We don't have a river."  
  
Theo seethes, gripping his nape. "I'll fucking find one."  
  
Christ, Stiles' heart is about to beat right out of his chest, he hears the blood pounding hot in his ears. Not because he's scared — it's been a long time since he was truly afraid of Theo's threats, probably the reason why he always gets so caught off guard when Theo actually does follow through with real homicidal intent — but because if this were any other person, he'd expect them to get down on one knee and present a ring. In Theo's twisted form of communication, the threat is damn near a love confession if you know how to read the man.  
  
Stiles drops the still half-full dessert and straddles Theo’s hips, his sticky fingers cupping near white colored cheeks. And for a split second Stiles sees his own devotion reflected back, so mesmerizing he gasps. But too quickly Theo's face clouds over with darkening lust as he grinds forward. 

He’s not going to be the one to complain about changing moods when it leads to this outcome. Pun most definitely intended. 

Nipping teeth find that magic spot behind Stiles' ear, and he moans loudly. "I was gonna say, you _asshole_ , that I think you're perfect." Another bite makes him writhe in Theo's lap, wishing there weren't any clothes between them.  
  
"Obviously," Theo says smugly, tongue lapping at the bruising flesh.  
  
Stiles tries to pull away halfheartedly, grinning. "Fuck you, Boss."  
  
Theo holds him tighter, just shy of painful, sliding a hand down the back of Stiles' too tight pants. He feels the barest touch of a finger at his hole. It’s still lubed from their quick and dirty fuck before leaving the lair. An onlooker chokes in horror, and his smile grows wider as his pants do the opposite.  
  
"You'd like that wouldn't you? Want to spread me out like I do you?” Both their breaths getting heavier. “Think of what people would say. Big bad Joker _taking it_ from his pretty slut who’d bend over for anyone. You want that power don’t you?”

Stiles cries out when Theo pinches his left nipple so hard the sensation lights up his spine.

“Answer me, Sweetheart. _Don’t you?_ ” Theo coaxes in that syrupy dripping voice. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles moans as Theo curls the finger already inside him, adding another seamlessly. They could be in the middle of the BCPD, and Stiles wouldn’t know anything but Theo’s words in his ear and his fingers up his ass. 

Adding a third, Stiles sucks in a gasp that Theo swallows with his mouth, not giving Stiles a moment's respite from the engulfment of his presence. Every sound of pleasure stolen from tongues, devoured between teeth. 

“But that’s not what’s gonna happen, is it?” Theo is teasing him, amused and taunting — like the fingers rubbing just shy of Stiles’ prostate.

Stiles shakes his head, he knows the script. Line after line of sweet torture. Even achingly hard, he knows what Theo needs to hear to get what he’s after.

“How easy you are, you want one thing but are so close to wetting yourself over anything I give you. I could fuck you right here and you’d gladly show all these strangers the ways I ruin you. Would you ride me? Fuck yourself silly on my cock? Or lay back on the grass and make yourself filthy getting fucked like an animal in heat?” 

Stiles knows Theo is just as lost to their bodies as he is. His gaze is so heated it damn near _burns._

Whining with tears nearly falling, Stiles pleads one word. “ _Daddy.”_ The breath knocks out of him as Theo slams him down on the wooden panels of the bench, Stiles’ thighs wrapping around him. Then two words. “ _Fuck me._ ”  
  
Theo swears, whispering viciously, "You think I'd let you get off that easy?" 

No, Stiles doesn't think that at all, and he sure as shit wasn't hoping so. He knows once he's strapped into Theo's chair there will be hell to pay. That the only way Theo will feel secure again after fighting his own emotional vulnerability is with blood running over his blades, preferably Stiles'.  
  
He licks his lips at the phantom taste of copper and iron, bowing his bruised back, demanding in a whisper of his own. "Then take me home and make it _hurt._ "  
  
Theo pulls his hands out of Stiles’ pants and slowly stands up, straightening his attire. Stiles still on his back, more wrecked than he should be from some light — considering it’s them — foreplay, is praying to every deity that he'll survive the night both metaphorically and literally.  
  
Theo holds out his sticky hand, and Stiles rushes to twine their fingers. Exactly what he was longing for, palm to palm: holy palmers' kiss of death.   
  
He's contemplating if he should call the hospital to reserve a bed, when Theo speaks, “Though I loathe to admit it… sometimes I think you're perfect too. But if you mention it again I will deny it.”  
  
Stiles' nerves are wrung out with being brought to the edge and then cut off before he could orgasm, like he ran a marathon across the entire city skyline. Still he shrugs, internally pleased with what’s to come. Again, pun _very_ intended. There are worse last meals than frozen yogurt.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://smokesforwolves.tumblr.com) where there's excerpts and edits for this series :D
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/larswithwolves) where i post ficlets from other fandoms


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